


Savior

by Lithos_Maitreya



Category: The Sexy Brutale (Video Game)
Genre: Addiction, F/M, Gambling, M/M, Mystery, Parenthood, Redemption, Spiritual, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:36:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithos_Maitreya/pseuds/Lithos_Maitreya
Summary: When 13-year-old Lafcadio Bondes wakes up in his father's body on the morning of the first-ever Masquerade Ball at the Sexy Brutale, it's like a dream come true. He gets to live through stories his family and friends have told him for as long as he can remember, and gets to know these people the way his parents do, rather than just as friends of the family. But there is something sick in the heart of the casino, and something sicker in the heart of the man he was named for. As he dreams through one of the old parties after another, he slowly begins to piece together the mystery of what happened at the final Masquerade Ball... and maybe, just maybe, save a few guests along the way.





	Savior

“Rise and shine, darling!”

My eyes opened slowly, reluctantly. There was a woman’s face looking down at me from above, her smile framed in long locks of rich red. She stood over the side of my bed in a richly-embroidered nightgown. I immediately felt certain that I knew this woman, and yet I couldn’t place her. The face seemed not to fit the rest of the body.

“Lucas, are you awake yet?”

My eyes snapped back to her face. I blinked. Twice. “Lu… cas?”

One eyebrow rose. “Um, yes. Your name?” Her eyes narrowed. “Were you drinking last night? You didn’t seem drunk when you came to bed…”

“Uh.” I shook my head. “No. No drinking.”

“Good,” she said firmly. “Wouldn’t do for you to be drinking now, on the eve of your big day.”

“Big… day?”

“The party!” she rolled her eyes. “Hungover or not, you really  _ are _ fuzzy. Check the calendar. I’m going to wash up.”

She turned away and left the bedside, her hips swaying as she strode away.

I sat up, blinking sleep out of my eyes, and looked around.

_ This… is not my house. _

I looked down. Saw the brown hair on my bare chest, thick enough to be noticeable without being bushy. I brought my hands up to my face, clenched my fists. There was power in those fingers—power that wasn’t mine.

I swallowed down a scream.

_ I’d woken up as someone else. _

_ Okay, think, _ I told myself fiercely.  _ Think, Lafcadio! This is…  _ probably _ a dream. Um. Definitely a dream. _

But, well. Letting people realize I wasn’t who they thought I was just sounded like a bad idea. It would turn this dream—whatever it was—into one of those dreams where I was onstage and in my underwear. Unpleasant.

So! I’d need to figure out who this “Lucas” was, and who the woman was, and how to convincingly be “Lucas”. Who was probably her husband. Whom she’d know intimately, and in whom she’d immediately be able to pick out discrepancies.

Simple.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and looked down at the bedside table.

This time I only managed to muffle the scream behind closed lips. There was a journal on the bedside, and on the journal was a name embossed in gold.

_ Lucas Bondes _ . I was… I was my own father.

* * *

 

My parents had told me stories about the Sexy Brutale. The extravagant hybrid mansion/casino featured in a lot of Father’s stories about his misspent youth. It seemed like the only member of the extended “family” of my parent’s close friends who  _ hadn’t _ spent a lot of time in the old mansion was, well,  _ me _ .

Seeing it was like stepping into a dream. Well, more than today already was. The ornate marble entrance hall, the carpeted, faintly-scented casino floor, the hardwood-paneled library… it was even more magnificent than I’d imagined it.

And I was going to get to host a party here. One of Father’s famous parties. The very first one, in fact! This was the party Redd had talked about, that evening by the fireplace.

Everyone had some story to tell about one of Father’s parties. Redd had talked about introducing Trinity and Clay at this first one. Great-Uncle Reginald had talked about the time he and Mr. Gorecki had, in a drunken fit, taken apart every clock they could find in the whole manor while trying to build an automaton. Ms. Belle had told me about her first ball, a few years after Father had acquired the manor, and how the guests had bawled like children into their cups at the end of her song.

Only one person didn’t have any story to tell, and yet every other story featured him in some way. He’d been at every party Father had ever thrown, had taken part in all the festivities. He’d been the owner of the casino before Father had won it in a game. And yet, whenever the topic came up, a shadow would cross his face, and he’d refuse to offer any stories of his own. By the time I was nine or ten, everyone had just stopped asking.

But this wasn’t the same Uncle Boone I knew. When I greeted him as he arrived through the mahogany doors, his hair was rich brown, not the white I remembered, and his smile was wide and free, not the thin, slightly-sad expression that had watched me grow up.

“Lucas!” he greeted, bringing his arms up to my shoulders and clasping firmly. His eyes glanced around the entrance hall before settling back on my face. “My, but you’ve certainly decorated the place well!”

“Well, uh.” I stumbled over my words, swallowed and tried again. “M—Eleanor helped a lot. And the staff, of course.”

“Still, it’s your eye for elegance that’s brought it all together,” said Boone with a laugh. “I mean, look at the railing on that balcony! Is that for Grayson? I imagine he’ll appreciate it.”

“Yes,” I managed. “I thought he’d like it.”

The smile faded slowly from Boone’s lips like water running down a drain. “Are you all right, my boy?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer. “You seem… unfocused. Are you feeling well?”

I was, in fact, extremely focused—but more on the oddity that was this younger, heartier Lafcadio Boone and on the insanity that was this dream than I was on holding a conversation. “I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just feeling a little under the weather. It’ll pass.”

He considered me. “Well, don’t drink too much tonight,” he advised. “Alcohol won’t be good for you, if you’re ill. I’d tell you not to gamble too much, too, but you wouldn’t listen?”

“What does gambling have to do with me getting sick?”

“It’s certainly not good for your soul.” He smiled again, and for a moment I saw a flash of that age, that exhaustion that I’d grown up with. “You know I worry about you, my boy. This is a lovely mansion, and I know you’re happy to be able to provide for Eleanor so well, but I  _ am _ still a preacher.” Then his smile widened again, and he shook his head. “But enough of that. There will be time for sermons and hellfire later! Tonight is your night, my boy! I shan’t ruin it for you!”

I looked after him as he walked past me and crossed the entrance hall. His hand reached into his coat and brought out a blank white mask. As he passed through the door which led to the casino, he slipped that mask over his face.

My mind was going in circles. I could see myself dreaming of Father in his glory days, and I could see myself dreaming of the Sexy Brutale as it once was… but why would I dream up a Boone who was so different from the man I knew?

What was going on?

* * *

 

“If I didn’t know better,” I said, pushing a few chips into the pot, “I’d say you were cheating, Miss Carrington.”

“Cheating?” Trinity asked breathily. Her hand was in front of her face like a fan, covering her mouth, even as her mask covered the rest of her face, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “But how on earth would I cheat, Marquis? I can barely even play the game, you may remember.” She leaned her cane against the table and brought her other hand up to feel at the front of her cards. “I certainly can’t peek at your hand.”

“Hm,” I said. I didn’t want to push. On the one hand, she  _ was _ cheating. On the other… it wasn’t Father who had exposed her.

“Oh, don’t be sore, Lucas,” said Gorecki dryly. “If the blind woman is good enough at cards to beat us, more power to her, I say.” He gave her a smile. “One cripple to another, I personally find it quite inspiring.”

“Cripple?” she asked, one elegant eyebrow rising. “I do hate that term. If this manor is anything to go by, Mr. Gorecki, there’s nothing  _ crippled _ about your work.”

Thanos Gorecki’s smile widened. “And if the statues I’ve seen around the house are any indication, nor is there about yours, Miss Carrington.”

“Oh, stop,” she said with an affected giggle. “You’ll make me blush.” She reached out and ran a hand over his new pair of cards, freshly dealt. “Is this mine?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “That’s his.”

“Ah. This one, then?” her hand moved to my cards.

“No, Ma’am.” I looked up. Clay Rockridge was standing—no,  _ looming _ —over Trinity with a grim look on his face, clear even under his colorful mask. “And I’m afraid the Marquis is quite right. You  _ are _ cheating.”

“Oh?” She smiled up at Clay. “And how on earth would I be doing that?”

“You can feel what the cards are,” he says. “You’re feeling up the other players’ hands before you take yours.”

“Oh, dear,” she said with a little gasp. Her hand came up and ran along his arm. “Dear me, I never intended to cause any trouble. But if it’s a problem, I can certainly stop feeling up other people’s cards. Especially if you’d like me to feel up  _ your _ … cards… later this evening.”

Clay’s cheeks visibly flushed. “Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Ooh, and now you’re going to escort me out?” she asked with a breathy little giggle. Her fingers scraped down the front of his shirt. “What a gentleman!”

Clay looked at me desperately. I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “As long as she stops cheating, she can stay.” I gave Clay a wink. “And you can certainly take her home afterwards, Mr. Rockridge.”

“Rockridge,” said Trinity, as though testing the name on her lips. “A very masculine name for a very… masculine man. I like it.”

Clay swallowed. “As you say, sir,” he said stiffly, and strode away, back to the door.

Trinity gave me a wicked grin as he walked away. “Oh, I  _ knew _ there was a reason I liked you, Marquis. I can stay, and play, but I have to pay it back to your friend there later.”

I blinked, startled. “No, no, it’s nothing like that!” I said quickly. “Clay’s a good man. He’d never—”

“Never what?” She was laughing. “Never force himself on me? Never tie me down and have his way with me? Never make me  _ beg _ ?” She leaned forward, and her lips were starkly red against her pale skin. “But what if I wanted him to, Mr. Marquis?”

Gorecki was laughing now. “Cheater or no,” he said, wheezing slightly, “I  _ like _ you, Miss Carrington.”

“Oh, I’m flattered, Mr. Gorecki,” said Trinity, dipping her head in his direction. “But I think I have a man already lined up for tonight.”

My face was burning. “Let’s continue,” I suggested weakly.

* * *

 

“I think your party went quite well, my boy,” said Boone. His voice was slightly muffled under his full mask, but his warm tone was crystal clear.

I nodded. “I think I’m going to make it an annual thing,” I said. “An annual masquerade ball at the Sexy Brutale. It has a nice ring to it.”

“I think it would be rather popular,” agreed Boone. There was something in his voice now, though. A wistfulness and a sorrow. “I hope to see an invitation next year.”

“I’ll be sure to send you one, Un—Boone.”

I felt his eyes on me, even hidden behind his mask. “It’s all right, my boy,” he said at length. “You can call me ‘Uncle’.”

I swallowed. “Uh, Uncle…? I don’t—”

“But I do, Little Lafcadio.”

My head whipped around as I stared at him. The long beak of my mask almost struck his. “You… you knew?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Lafcadio Boone, the man for whom I was named, asked gently. “You still think this is a dream, don’t you? I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

I swallowed. “Are you?”

He reached up and took off his mask. His face was still young, less lined than I remembered, but his smile now was the same sad one I knew. “Ah, my boy,” he said quietly. “For your sake… I wish it were that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “If I’m wrong… it would do nothing to worry you. If I’m right… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Your father’s story, the Sexy Brutale… there’s a great deal you don’t know about this story.”

I swallowed. “I want to know more,” I said.

His face twisted in profound pain. “No, my boy,” he said quietly. “No, you do not.” He stood up and slipped his mask back into his coat. “I must be going. I have a sermon to deliver tomorrow.” He suddenly shot me another young, free smile. “And isn’t it well past your bedtime, my boy?”

I wanted to answer, but suddenly my eyes were closing and the world was fading away.


End file.
